Psychology Diagnosis
by Lupin Drake
Summary: Sequel to Psychology Reports. "I am not seeing fictional characters, I am not seeing fictional characters…" Rated for language.


Hey everyone! I have been mostly working on original fiction and submersing myself within real life, but here is something from me... finally.

This was inspired by some reviews and conversations with Cerridwen-Maiden who said that she would like to see more of this. So, here is another (small) chapter, a sequel of sorts. I am having fun with this, so I will probably be adding some more chapters sooner or later. I hope you enjoy it. Please do review and tell me what you think of it, and if I should eventually turn to a serious plot direction, or keep it humorous!

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PSYCHOLOGICAL DIAGNOSIS

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I was so relieved when I got to class later that day—I had finally completed my essay, and surely had a bruise on my forehead, though no one commented on it. At least something was going right for once, but this thought was dashed to pieces when the professor came in and told us that he had another project in mind.

And to completely disregard or throw away the papers we had been working on.

Many people exclaimed shock but soon quieted, some complained of the sleep they lost, and others grumbled under their breaths. What more could we do? He was the professor.

"You _mother fucking_ bastard!"

That was me. I couldn't help it—I snapped. I worked hard on my essay and now he was telling me to trash it and make all that work pointless? Did he know what lengths I had gone through to find books and creditable resources and make it interesting? People stared at me as I launched myself up from my seat and jabbed a finger at him.

"I beg your _pardon_," he said in a smug tone. I didn't back down. He had been asking this for a long time and he was going to get it.

"What makes you think you can be so indecisive and do something like this to us?" I yelled. "You are supposed to educate us, set an example for the kind of doctors we are to be some day, and guide us, not use us in twisted experiments for your amusement!"

He began chuckling, soon roaring into laughter. It took all my will power to not throw myself at him and tear his throat apart with my bare hands, or maybe a rusty spoon some of the more questionable members of my class probably had in their pockets.

"This—oh my Lord—that was—"

"That was what?" I snapped.

He had three seconds to explain himself or there was going to be a murder scene.

"Oh, I just pull something like this on every class I have, and make them swear to silence," he replied, still laughing. "You see, no one prior to you has protested against this or anything else I do. They just accepted it like the sheep they are."

"Your point?" I hissed.

"You have learned a very valuable lesson when it comes to being a psychiatrist: don't take any shit from anyone, because you're gonna get some really whacked cases every once in a while. You've gotta have a spine if you're going into this field."

The streets of Dublin parted for me when he dismissed us.

So I might have learned a lesson. So I might have proved myself to be different than the rest of the students he had ever taught since he started teaching here. Who cared? I was humiliated! I had shown my temper, which I had worked so hard to conceal! It was all ruined—my image of a perfectly normal, even-tempered girl was gone, destroyed! All of my efforts to become a better, more amiable person were wasted!

That teacher was going to die if he ever so much as commented on this again.

Anyone who mentioned it would die for that matter.

I'd kill them. With a spork. A _rusty_ spork while listening to Lady Gaga on repeat! Or, better yet, a techno-bubblegum-popped version of Lady Gaga!

I was still grumbling about the day's events and plotting some sort of twisted revenge scheme when sirens and people shouting interrupted—and I only looked up in time to be plowed right into some idiot with a ski mask and a heavily filled canvas bag.

If this were some typical story, I would have used my still developing and pent up anger to punch him in the stomach or otherwise disable him and appear in the newspaper the next morning as a town hero, and maybe be given some sort of award, but this is reality, and things like that don't happen. So, I was plowed over and driven into the sidewalk.

I had yelped and tried to grab onto him to support myself and prevent a fall, but all I ended up doing was tearing a part of his shirtsleeve off. A police officer helped me up and asked if I was alright, which I replied yes to, because you just do stuff like that.

However, he couldn't let go of me just quite yet—I had that sleeve in my hand still.

"Miss, you just might have made it possible for us to catch the perpetrator," he said with a tip of his hat as a forensic scientist dropped the sleeve in a bag.

"Eh, don't mention it," I mumbled. They swabbed my hand for DNA as well.

I really just wanted to go home then, to land face first in my bed and forget about the world and things of importance until my stomach demanded for food. Or my roommate came in with her loud music, all of her lights, and chatty boy toy that she had started bringing over lately. I really needed to look into kicking her out or making new rules.

I sighed and rotated my neck. Police work. Bleh.

That was when I froze: twenty or so feet away, scrawling away in a notepad was the same person I had seen earlier, the person who looked so much like Artemis Fowl. He looked up for a second and I let out a shriek. I don't know if it was in disbelief or in shock or if it was because I had confirmed that I was mental, but I still saw one hazel and one blue eye.

The forensic scientist accidentally splashed me with the stuff that identifies substances as blood or not, the police officer jumped and nearly fell into oncoming traffic, the evidence bags were dropped onto the ground, and I rocked back and forth with my eyes covered.

"I am not seeing fictional characters, I am not seeing fictional characters…"

Needless to say, the universe was plotting against me, and there was a theme for its plan to drive me insane before I could save anyone from insanity. If it weren't for the fact that I would kill myself afterwards, I would burn every Eoin Colfer book I owned.


End file.
